I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 77

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Talent That Pays Too Well Episode 77
“You asked me to buy you a drink…… Are you sure this is okay?”
I glanced past the passenger seat and turned the steering wheel smoothly.
Rush hour.
The sunset stretched long across the windshield as Yeon-hee pouted her lips and folded her arms.
“You know I like that tteokbokki place, so how could you never have taken me there?”
“Sorry. The timing never worked out.”
I laughed awkwardly at Yeon-hee’s complaint.
Truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve visited In-ha Bunsik myself.
According to Mom, business has been so good lately that the place is absolute chaos.
She’d mentioned that evening was the quietest time, so I picked up Yeon-hee after work and headed over.
“Is an apology supposed to be enough? You’re the one who created that recipe!”
“…… You knew about that?”
“Of course. Did you think there was anything about you I didn’t know?”
Yeon-hee spoke with unmistakable pride.
Her expression was playful, but her eyes held something more serious.
‘Is this really worth making a fuss over?’
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You don’t realize how much a man who’s good at cooking is a fantasy for women.”
I’d heard something similar from Jung Soo-yeon before.
That a man who cooks well is sexy.
Was that really true?
“And you need to explain yourself to me.”
“Explain?”
Yeon-hee thrust her smartphone in front of my face.
“This.”
We were waiting at a red light.
I turned my head to see the video on Yeon-hee’s phone.
The Outdoor Archery Range.
There I was, with a Compound Bowstring notched, aiming at a target.
-The Secret Double Life of Genius Professional Baduk Player Kim In-ha
The Shorts had 500,000 views.
The original video had nearly breached 190,000 views as well.
Judging by the distant angle, it looked like someone had filmed it secretly from far away.
“Where did this come from?”
“Where else? It’s already all over SNS and YouTube. The comments are absolute madness right now.”
“…… Madness?”
Yeon-hee scrolled down to the comments, and top replies streamed down the screen.
-The wind was terrible that day, but he hit 355 out of 360. And his opponent was Oh Ki-jun.
-Oh Ki-jun is top-tier in the archery club, right?
-Yeah, he doesn’t fall behind even semi-professional players. He probably barely missed the National Representative Preliminary Selection Tournament.
-Wait, so Kim In-ha is National Representative caliber too?
-So he’s now dominating archery the way he does baduk?
-Does Korean Archery look like a joke to you? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
All the chatter people were making about me.
I was used to it by now.
There was no real reason to hide it, and I’d even started to enjoy the attention people gave me to some degree.
“When I see you lately, I get a certain feeling.”
Yeon-hee continued without taking her eyes from the screen.
“It’s like you yourself…… have become a brand?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, it’s a bit different from being an influencer, but, uh, I can’t quite explain it. You’re more like a celebrity or a famous athlete.”
I chuckled quietly.
I had a sense of what she meant.
And that was—
‘Exactly where I’m heading.’
Kim In-ha.
Creating symbolic weight to these three syllables that transcends mere skill—
Becoming a figure with narrative, social, and commercial resonance.
And once that happens—
‘…The money will follow naturally, I suppose.’
Of course, if I ever unlocked a Talent for earning money, I’d use it to the fullest.
Stocks, cryptocurrency, real estate investing.
But until then…
I’d focus on building my own brand—the image of a multi-talented person.
Because that’s my real value.
Just as we were about to turn into the alley where In-ha Bunsik was located, Yeon-hee glanced out the window and spoke.
“Oh? There’s a Tteok Mi-dang here too?”
“Yeah. Just opened a while ago.”
“…But there aren’t many customers, are there?”
Yeon-hee tossed out the observation casually, as if it were nothing.
I took a quick look at the inside of Tteok Mi-dang myself.
The shop was nearly empty.
More staff than customers, it seemed.
I couldn’t judge based on just this moment—this was evening, after all.
But one thing was clear: the number of customers had dropped noticeably compared to before.
In stark contrast,
In-ha Bunsik, tucked deep inside the residential alley, still glowed brightly.
Its sign was humble compared to the franchise, but inside, customers bustled about.
‘Nice.’
That franchise Tteok Mi-dang opened maliciously by the building owner’s wife.
The fact that I’d dealt her a proper blow kept making me smile.
“Senior, is it okay to go in now? There are still a lot of customers…”
“What’s the problem with that?”
“We should be careful about scandal.”
After I parked, I turned to look at her, bewildered.
“Me? I’m not even a celebrity.”
“Really? Why aren’t you more famous?”
I laughed at the absurdity and stepped inside the shop.
Bright lighting and a familiar face greeted me.
“In-ha?”
My mother’s voice.
When she caught sight of Yeon-hee following behind me, her eyes widened.
I introduced her briefly.
“This is Yeon-hee, a junior from university. We worked together at the bank.”
“Hello, ma’am.”
“Oh my. I’ve heard so much about you. Come right in.”
We sat at an empty table inside.
I could see game photos packed thickly across the shop wall.
Next to the water dispenser stood a standee of me holding Baduk stones.
“Wow, this place is like your museum, senior.”
“…”
“A complete shrine.”
Heat crept up my face.
Ah, so that’s why I’d always changed the subject whenever mentioning I’d been to the shop.
I never imagined the interior would be papered over like this with my photos.
Then my mother brought out tteokbokki, fried food, kimbap, and fish cake broth.
“Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am!”
Yeon-hee clasped her hands together with a broad smile, then took a bite of the Ice Cream Tteokbokki.
“Wow, it’s so good. I’ve never tasted anything like this before.”
Her eyes went wide and she began wolfing it down.
She really was a tteokbokki fiend.
As I watched her contentedly, other customers who recognized me began approaching one by one.
“Sorry to bother you, but could you sign something for us?”
“Of course. Happily.”
More signatures and photo requests followed.
I obliged willingly and returned to my seat, where Yeon-hee gazed at me with satisfaction.
There was something like pride in her eyes.
“Wow, the popular guy.”
“Just eat.”
After finishing the meal, we said goodbye to her mother and left the restaurant.
“Ma’am, see you next time!”
Once we were in the car, Yeon-hee let her words trail off like an afterthought.
“Ah, I’ll have to come back next week. I think I’ll be craving this even in my dreams.”
“Come whenever you want. By the way, you said you live in Sadang, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Oh? Are you giving me a ride?”
“I promised to take you for a drive.”
I smiled and eased gently onto the accelerator.

* * *
City lights streamed past the car window.
We arrived at our destination while catching up on stories we’d been meaning to share.
A luxury officetel building.
I slowed down carefully and stopped before the entrance.
“Thanks, senior.”
Yeon-hee looked at me without opening the door.
She seemed hesitant, as if she had something to say.
“Want me to walk you up? I can do an escort if you want.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Yeon-hee grabbed the handle and pushed the door halfway open, then stopped.
“Senior.”
“Hmm?”
She turned her head and gazed at me meaningfully.
“…Want to come see the cat?”
I stared at Yeon-hee for a long moment.
The air between us felt strange.
And in that instant, the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“You don’t even have a cat.”
“…Caught.”
Yeon-hee stuck her tongue out playfully and scrambled out of the car like she was making a getaway.
She stood beyond the passenger window and gave a smile-eyed wave.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Go on.”
I said goodbye and gripped the steering wheel again.
Just as I was about to press down on the accelerator, I heard a small voice from outside the window.
“…Idiot. That’s not the cat I meant.”
I tilted my head in confusion, but Yeon-hee had already disappeared into the officetel building.
Just words dissolving into the evening air.
I pulled away quietly.
It had been a quiet, ordinary day.

* * *
South Korea.
Undisputedly the world’s archery superpower.
But that held true only for recurve.
Compound was different.
This discipline, which demanded precision aiming and mechanical perfection, had actually been systematized earlier in Europe and America.
Indeed, it was common enough to find compound bows sold alongside firearms in American gun shops.
For that reason.
Surprisingly, the current coach of South Korea’s national compound archery team was a foreigner.
Nick Cutter.
American.
A former world number-one archer who had gone on to coach the Dutch national team with distinction.
When compound archery was officially adopted as an Olympic sport, he was immediately scouted to Korea.
The need was that desperate.
A coach capable of achieving results worthy of the world’s premier archery nation’s status.
Inside the national team.
The day they were reviewing the roster of applicants for the first national selection preliminary tournament.
The coach, trainers, and media team gathered together to go through the final documentation.
“Ho-jung and Byung-soo both showed up without fail.”
“They’re both strong contenders.”
“Apart from them, I don’t see any particularly standout names, which is a bit disappointing.”
“Even though it’s become an official event now…… people still seem reluctant to switch from Recurve.”
The coaches’ voices dropped.
Korean Archery had a deep talent pool.
Breaking through the National Representative Preliminary Selection Tournament was said to be as difficult as winning an Olympic medal.
But Compound bow didn’t come close to that.
The number of registered athletes with the federation was only about one-tenth of the Recurve contingent.
That’s also why there were no restrictions on participation eligibility, even for those without a competitive background.
Then.
Nick Cutter’s gaze stopped.
“Kim In-ha?”
A coach dug through the tablet and found the participant list.
“Here he is. No club affiliation, registered as an individual. He’s a participant who only recently registered as an athlete.”
“Looks like just a club member participating for the experience.”
There was a note of regret in the tone.
Then a media team staffer interjected from the side.
“Wait. This photo looks familiar?”
After finishing the search, he spoke up in surprise.
“Oh? Isn’t this Professional Baduk Player Kim In-ha? That person who made a buzz back then and appeared on variety shows. There are videos of him on YouTube.”
The media staffer connected to a large monitor and played the YouTube video.
A posture aligned with sharp precision.
A composed expression.
Drawing back the Compound Bowstring.
And someone’s voice shouting “X-Ten.”
The media staffer read the comments.
“His opponent was Oh Ki-jun, and he shot 12 ends, apparently.”
“……Oh Ki-jun? Isn’t that the guy? One of the strongest in the club.”
“Yes. He narrowly missed the cut in the first round of the selection tournament last year.”
The coaches remembered him too.
A club member who shoots better than many professionals wasn’t uncommon, but still notable.
“He shot 355 out of 360 points that day. And it was a day with pretty strong wind.”
“Who did? Oh Ki-jun?”
“……Both of them.”
“Kim In-ha too?”
The coaches were startled.
The two men concentrated, analyzing the video frame by frame.
“He shoots well.”
“And his form is stable.”
Nick Cutter said nothing.
Instead, he replayed the video repeatedly.
That look in his eyes.
The gaze of someone who pursued only results, not personal interests.
“……Since he has star quality, if he makes the selection, it could be good for the box office draw. He might even catch the parent company’s attention.”
At the media staffer’s cautiously offered remark, everyone nodded.
But first, he had to prove his skill.
A brilliant track record, buzz and hype—none of it mattered.
If he couldn’t pass the selection, that was the end of it.
Korean Archery had been designed with that exact system from the beginning.
Then.
Nick Cutter’s eyes left the monitor.
A brief silence, as if chewing over the video he’d watched dozens of times.
Then his gaze shifted back to the participant list.
“Let’s keep an eye on this one.”
At those few words, the conference room fell quiet.
Nick Cutter.
A cold outsider who saw only results.
For him to single someone out in the first round of selection was extraordinary.
And based on nothing but a single video.
The coaches exchanged glances in silence.
‘……What did the director see?’
One thing was certain.
Nick Cutter had clearly seen something they had not yet perceived.
Not in someone else, but in Professional Baduk Player Kim In-ha.
And not from an elite-trained prodigy, but from an ordinary person.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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